


I Wish I Was Your Cigarette

by stayfr0sty



Category: I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band), Panic! at the Disco
Genre: AU, Adults AU, Alternate Universe - No Band, Death, Fire, Killing, M/M, Murder, Oh wait, Purge, Purge AU, Pyromania, Songfic, Violence, etc - Freeform, is there such thing as a fire kink?, pyromaniac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-11 06:34:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18424878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stayfr0sty/pseuds/stayfr0sty
Summary: Eight years ago, everything went to hell. Things were changing. People were rioting. Rebellions were inevitable. The United States Government needed a way to control the population.So, they invented the Purge, where once a year, all crime - including murder - is legal for 12 continuous hours. At first, the people were skeptic. Who would ever participate in such a gruesome, bloody event? Who would give up their humanity in exchange for blood and sin?Brendon Urie and Dallon Weekes, apparently.





	I Wish I Was Your Cigarette

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my girlfriend for helping me out with this one. :D
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

_This is not a test, this is your Emergency Broadcast System announcing the commencement of the annual purge sanctioned by the U.S. Government. Weapons of class four and lower have been authorized for use during the purge. All other weapons are restricted. Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity and shall not be harmed. Commencing at the siren, any and all crime (including murder) will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and Emergency Medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7:00 a.m..._

* * *

 "We could watch a movie," Dallon suggested as the smooth female voice listed the rules of the annual Purge, gesturing towards a stack of CDs:  _Kill Bill, Fight Club, Psycho_... "Or play a game. Or just decapitate each other, if you're feeling naughty."

Dallon had no intention of leaving his lover's house for the next 12 hours even if his life depended on it - which it did. And more importantly, Brendon's life depended on it. The thought of what those villains could do made his stomach churn. And the worst part? Everyone out there, everyone who dared to venture outside on Purge night was _normal_. They probably worked a 9 to 5, they probably listened to Top 40 hits and Ariana Grande, and they probably would bash Dallon's head in with a baseball bat given the chance.

"Sounds exciting," Brendon deadpanned, taking a sip of wine. He glanced at the TV, which was still broadcasting the Purge warning, and sighed. Dallon watched as he swallowed the contents of the wine glass in one single gulp. "I'm planning on getting drunk," he paused to wipe wine off of his chin, "and watching you eat another box of pastries. No murder for me tonight."

"You're such a mess," Dallon remarked as he watched the crimson, bloody liquid seep down Brendon's chin. As he cleaned off the coffee table, which was decorated in cinnamon bun crumbs and drops of wine, he reflected on what Brendon had said. "I thought you told me that a while ago, maybe one or two Purges ago, you went out to wham the town?"

He could definitely see his boyfriend bashing through a 7-11 window to steal their slushie machine.

"Oh, I did." Brendon said casually. "Before you and I lived together, actually, me and Pete went out. He wanted free food. I wanted this new guitar. So we compromised and broke into a Guitar Center, then a grocery store." He nodded to a red guitar on the wall. "Classic Fender." he said proudly. "And, _and_ I destroyed Ryan's car," he continued, referring to Ryan Ross, his ex, who'd cheated on him with a girl he met in Cape Town. "Dumbass left it out for some reason." He laughed.

Dallon frowned upon hearing Brendon's warm laugh. It was a noise he primarily cherished, something that made Dallon remember why he was so in love with this puppy dog of a man. But in this moment, Brendon wasn't any sort of puppy. He was a hellhound with his too-perfect lips drawn back into a snarl of victory. He loved Brendon and knew that the loyalty he harbored for his pack was strong, but sometimes, with his wolf eyes and snarling lips, he wondered if his hunger for chaos was stronger. With his blue gaze settled on Brendon, Dallon asked something that was always on his mind, and that had been on his mind ever since he started dating this whirlwind, this hurricane of a man.

"Would you ever do that to my car?" He interrupted Brendon's response because he could feel something akin to a knife digging into his heart. "Would you ever... kill someone?"

One of their dogs, Penny Lane, barked, her collar jingling. Neither Dallon nor Brendon paid her any mind. As long as she was inside and safe, they had no need to worry about her. Plus, they'd let her outside before the announcement, so there was no need to see if she needed to be let out. Brendon and Dallon: the ultimate dog parents.

If only they'd remembered to lock the door.

"Dallon, you're my boyfriend, I'm not gonna destroy your car. Besides, Ryan was a douchebag. You're not. It's that simple," Brendon replied as he took a bite of his honey bun, chewing as he ignored Penny's barking. But then his eyes flickered to the pistol they kept on the coffee table during the Purge for emergencies. "But, you know, it depends," he continued slowly, tone more serious, "If it was necessary, yes."

Dallon bit the inside of his cheek, a bad habit that left a certain callous on the inside of his cheek. He tasted metallic bitterness. He didn't reply to Brendon. Maybe out of fear. He didn't know.

He reached for another cinnamon bun, only for his fingers to collide with the papery insides of the packaging. Dallon sighed, displeased at this.

"I'll go get the extra," he announced as he pushed himself out of the chair and towards the secret stash he hid from Brendon. Along his journey to the honey bun hideout, he heard something. He spun around from the entrance to the hallway and towards the living room by the front door. It was Zero, or Penny, or Bogart. Dallon's teeth pressed into his cheek harder and harder with each step towards the chair where he heard the noise.

And then he heard a jingle. He turned back towards the hallway, where Penny stood, looking up at him quizzically. Of course. Dallon took a step towards the dog before it happened. He felt something, something like a foot, maybe, collide with the small of his back, and immediately, collapsed onto the glass table in front of him with a shatter and an ear-piercing scream.

Dallon couldn't think, he could only feel. He felt his breath catch in his throat, he felt the glass break underneath his weight, he felt sharp needles pierce into his skin, and then he felt the metallic wetness of blood.

He heard Brendon cry out. He heard him scream, "Dallon! Dallon, baby, are you okay?" He heard a shot ring out. And then everything was silent.

His body trembled, and shook, and quivered, and then he pushed himself up to his knees. It was dark, and all he could see were outlines. Eventually, he realized that was Brendon, standing there with a pistol in his hand and staring down at the carpet. And then he realized that Brendon was reaching towards the light switch, and then he saw what his boyfriend had been looking at.

Weekes looked at the.. thing. It wasn't human. Not anymore.

It wore a human's face, and a human's body, but there was no soul behind their eyes.

"Brendon," Dallon whispered, ignoring how his body cried out in pain as he shifted to look at him, "Brendon, you killed it."

It was obviously a man, but Dallon couldn't bring himself to call it a "him".

He felt the knife in his heart again, but it wasn't a knife, it was a shard of glass that pressed into his chest and left bleeding, gaping holes in his organs.

"Brendon, you killed it and now we're going to hell."

Brendon didn't seem to look at him. "Are you okay?" he asked, voice devoid of anything. Anything at all. He was still staring at the body.

"Hm." Dallon couldn't take his eyes off of it. They were just as bad as the rest of them. Dallon constantly criticized those who participated in the Purge, and now, Brendon and him were sitting in a pool of blood that now oozed from a dead body.

"Well, now," he said, no trace of his normal, articulate self in his voice, "We might as well just steal from a bank. Let's break into an old lady's house. We should rob a local 7-11. Let's drive to the Louvre and spit on the Mona Lisa!" Dallon cried out, almost smiling. If they killed a person, they might as well have committed every other crime in the book.

"Jesus, Dallon," Brendon sighed. He sounded tired.

"Jesus?" Dallon repeated, eyes wide as he looked at the body. He wondered what he was feeling.

"Jesus won't save us now." he told his boyfriend, and maybe there was something a little too crazed in his tone, maybe he sounded a little too insane.

Mania.

That's what he was feeling.

"Dallon, I just saved your life. Shut the fuck up," Brendon told Dallon, and for once in his life, Dallon listened. "We're getting out of here," the brown-eyed, too-calm boy declared abruptly, pushing himself and extending a hand for Dallon to take.

When Dallon didn't move, he grabbed him, lifting him up and dragging him outside to the hall. Brendon bent down to grab his pistol, wiping the blood off of his hands before fixating his eyes on Dallon. "Go get your shoes on, grab whatever weapon you've got. I can't stay in here."

"Why the hell would we go outside?" Dallon spat, brushing off extra glass pieces from his black bomber and ripped jeans. Then his eyes flashed back towards the dead human body on the floor, and he understood. Regardless, there would be far more bodies outside than on their black faux fur carpet. He marched into his bedroom, pulled on his Doc Martin's, and grabbed a baseball bat just for good measure.

As he returned to the living room, he saw Brendon, staring down at the bottle of wine. There was something indecipherable about his expression. He wasn't sporting any snarls of victory or flashing yellow eyes, but something much more serious.

"Brendon, do you really want to go out there?" Dallon asked, but he was more so asking this for his own benefit. He'd never been outside on a Purge night. He'd also never been associated with a murder before. "It's... kinda dangerous."

"What else are we going to do?" asked Brendon with a raised eyebrow and a sort of half-smirk on his face. "You wanna sit in there with our pal and play spin the bottle?" He nodded in the direction of the room with the body.

"You know I'd much rather play 7 Minutes in Heaven," he replied dryly, somewhat shocked at his own ability to make jokes in a situation like this. "Just, just.. promise we won't do anything bad," he whispered after, his grip tight on the baseball bat.

Brendon analyzed him for a moment, and then he stepped forward, pushing himself up on his toes so he could press a kiss against his cheek. "We don't have to go out," he said slowly, but it was clear he didn't want to be around the body. "If you want, we can lock the doors and go to bed." His voice was soft. "Or we go outside and steal a slushie machine." he added with a slight chuckle.

After Brendon's bloody kiss, Dallon rested his head on top of him for a brief second before he pulled away. It felt nice to be wrapped up in Brendon rather than in their IKEA glass table. Upon their separation, he managed to crane his head back up. He considered his offers, finding Option 1 rather appealing. But he also saw how Brendon lit up at the idea of Operation: Slushie. He knew how Brendon loved the first time he Purged; it made sense for him to still crave that chaos. And Dallon was holding him back from what he wanted, and that was a total asshole move from him.

"We can go," he whispered. "If that's what you want."

Brendon took Dallon's hand and grinned, and it was clear there was no going back.

As they went into the garage, Brendon hopped into the driver's seat, revving the engine as he waited for Dallon to join him. "I'll drive," he announced, despite the fact that he was drunk.

"You can't drive, it's illega- nevermind," Dallon caught himself with a shrug, and before he even had time to belt himself into their glimmering black Tesla, Brendon was shooting off into the street.

"Brendon!" he shrieked as they blew past a STOP sign with no sign of stopping. Instinctively, his hand went to Brendon's thigh, and his eyes widened as he watched the houses zoom past. "That wasn't safe!"

He turned his head to look at his boyfriend, but he didn't see his boyfriend. He saw reckless eyes perched on the road ahead like a hawk. He saw freckles of blood painted across his cheeks. He saw the hands of a king wrapped around the steering wheel, rings sparkling in the light of the sunset. His grip on Brendon's thigh tightened.

The Purge brought out the worst in society, and Brendon seemed to be in love with it. He seemed to be in love with the violence. With the chaos. With the crazed, manic thirst for blood.

"We don't need to be safe," was all he said, giving him one of his classic smirks, the ones tinged with blood and menace and the reckless hunger of a wolf. It was a smirk Dallon had fallen in love with, when Brendon picked him up for their first date riding a motorcycle and wearing a leather jacket.

Dallon found that he was gnawing on his inner cheek again. With Brendon's words and tantalizing smirk, he found that he couldn't let go of him. He'd never been on drugs before, but Brendon's ecstasy had never left Dallon so high.

Suddenly, the car screeched to a halt in front of a store whose sign read: "KISS N TELL".

"You've never been in a sex store, have you, Dallon?" Brendon asked casually, as if he was asking whether Dallon had ever tried vegan pizza.

He didn't reply. Without really acknowledging it, he realized his hands were shaking.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his reflection in the passenger mirror, speckled with blood and the faint shine of forgotten shards of glass.

Dallon climbed out of the expensive car and closed the door, and as he made his way towards the illuminated store, he rolled his eyes.  "Do we have to go in?" he pleaded. It wasn't like Dallon was completely innocent. He'd had sex. He'd made love. But a store like this wasn't for making love. Everything in here was sold for people who wanted to-

" _Fuck_ ," said Brendon, effectively finishing Dallon's thought for him, "It's locked." He jiggled the handle.

Of course it was locked, Dallon thought. This was the Purge. Everyone spent thousands on security. And if not that, then they, at the very least, locked their door.

"You know," Dallon mentioned, nodding at the broken glass a few feet to the right, "You could try going through that."

Brendon stared at the massive hole in the shop window before nodding and climbing through. A piece of glass caught the fabric of his jeans, but he didn't even seem to notice as it snagged and tore a large rip. Dallon decided not to point out the bloodstain soaking the fabric of Brendon's jeans. Either Brendon was too drunk to notice the pain, drunk on wine and adrenaline or maybe fear, or he was choosing to ignore it.

Cautiously, gingerly, Dallon followed him through the gap, squinting at the merchandise around him. This was a trashy shop for trashier people. He felt sick as he looked around, nausea bubbling up in his stomach as he saw a mannequin, knocked over. Blood stained its pink lingerie.

But Brendon seemed to be having a blast. He peeked out from a shelf stocked with items that couldn't possibly be sex toys, or, at least, didn't fit Dallon's idea of what sex toys should look like. Was that a tentacle, by any chance?

Dallon's boyfriend held up his wrist, from which a pair of handcuffs dangled.

"I can't get them off," Brendon said, almost apologetically.

Dallon laughed. He couldn't help himself. They'd just killed a man, they'd committed _murder_ , and here he was. In a sex store with his boyfriend, who, apparently, couldn't manage to remove his handcuffs.

"You killed a man, and you can't take off some damn handcuffs?"

He regretted his words as soon as he said them. Brendon's eyes flashed with anger. And here he was: the wolf, again, with his predatory snarl and his coyote, growling eyes.

"Don't mention it, Dallon. For the love of God, don't mention it."

"You can't avoid it, you know," Dallon replied, knowing he was only digging himself into a deeper hole. "You killed someone. You killed someone, and you can't just- you can't just run away. This isn't safe. This is Purge night. No amount of escapism, or jokes, or- or goddamn handcuffs or sex stores are going to change that!"

"What do you want me to do?" Brendon hissed. "You wanna go back home? You wanna be around that thing? That body?"

He was closer to Dallon, now, and he'd never seen Brendon this angry. This.. unhinged. He knew he was drunk, but this, this insanity was another level. Committing murder? Leaving the house on Purge night?

And worst of all, Dallon followed him willingly. He allowed him to lead him into danger. He had to put a stop to this.

Handcuffs jangled and glass crunched under Dallon's shoes as he pushed Brendon back, back against the clerk counter. Hips against hips and clothing against clothing and skin against skin.

"You have to snap out of it, Brendon," he whispered, "Please. Please, I know it's Purge night, I know you're drunk, I know you-"

They'd been dating for two years, and at this point, Brendon knew how to shut Dallon up. With a low, dark growl, he pulled him closer, and Dallon practically purred as he was devoured whole by Brendon's lips.

But with difficulty, he pulled away.

"You can't," he told him. "You can't do this. Brendon, you- this isn't safe. We could be killed."

Brendon gazed up at Dallon with no fear, no anxiety, no nothing except clear arrogance in his expression. "Are you afraid? You wanna go back home, Dal? You wanna go and hide?"

He was taunting him, pushing him again again, just enough to shove him over the edge.

Dallon's brows furrowed with every word Brendon said. On a night like this, the two of them should've been in sync. They should've been working together, they should've been watching the other's back. But that wasn't going to work out if Brendon was going to be a little bitch. He hadn't even wanted to go out tonight - or commit a murder, for that matter/ It was all that bastard's fault he was out here, and now he was messing with him? Someone had to punish him, and it looked like Dallon held the honor in his clenched fist. He dropped the bat and replaced it with a fistful of Brendon's shirt collar, dragging him towards him just hard enough to leave Brendon on his tiptoes.

"You shut your mouth, Urie." Dallon snarled, holding him close. "You shut the fuck up. If we're going to do this, then you better shut the fuck up."

He pushed him off just hard enough for Brendon to stumble, but not quite hard enough to fall.

Brendon stumbled back when he was shoved, swallowing before giving him a cocky grin. "Come on," he said, regaining his balance before turning around and strolling towards the gap in the window. "I want to set something on fire."

Dallon, despite himself, followed him.

When they stood outside, Dallon's hand shaking as he held onto the bat, Brendon nodded towards the 7-11 on their right.

"Gasoline," Brendon said hoarsely. "We need gasoline. And matches."

By unspoken agreement, the two headed towards the door. One problem, however, was that said door was locked. And there was no convenient gap in the glass this time. Brendon's eyes flickered down to Dallon's bat.

Dallon hadn't thought he was going to use the bat tonight. Although, he also hadn't thought he would watch a murder, or go into a sex shop, or plan to burn..

"What are we going to burn, Brendon?" Dallon whispered.

He looked at his lover.

"Everything," Brendon murmured, glancing at the gas station in front of them. "Everything."

He raised his bat, and for a brief second, he looked at it. Was this who he had become? Someone so caught up in his own adrenaline that he didn't want to think rationally? Someone who so badly longed to wreck havoc that he didn't care about who he hurt?

Dallon plunged the bat into the glass window, and just like that, it spiraled into shreds. Just like that, shards flew madly through the pitch-black air. Just like that, Dallon laughed. That still wasn't enough. He assaulted every window, and each time, he grinned more and more. Each time, he saw his reflection shatter into a million pieces.

Brendon kissed his cheek, and together, they headed into the 7/11.

"Did you bring your lighter?" Dallon asked, picking up a gallon of gasoline. He supposed this 7/11 would go up in flames, along with the gasoline pumps, and along with everything in a half mile radius.

His boyfriend merely nodded in reply, and together, they headed out into the darkness.

The world smelled like gasoline and grease. Together, they poured out gallon after gallon of the chemical, dousing the 7/11 and every gas pump in the fuel.

Everything was coated.

Everything.

And everything would burn.

After they stepped back, Brendon pulled out his lighter, then looked up at Dallon. "Do you want to do the honors, my love?" he whispered, pinching the lighter between his index finger and thumb. The flame wavered, but stayed steady, a light in the darkness.

"Thank you, darling." He grabbed the lighter and launched it. It took two seconds before the fire caught, and it spread, and everything went to hell.

It truly was their best work. Every green neon sign and blue slushie lost all of their shades to bright, fiery reds, oranges, and yellows. Everything was on fire.

It was something Dallon couldn't describe. It was every color he wanted to express but couldn't; it was beautiful, and it looked like the end of the world.

"It's beautiful," Brendon whispered. 

If left unchecked, this fire could burn down half of Los Angeles.

"It is." Dallon agreed.

He shut his eyes, thinking about the city he lived in, the city he loved, the city he'd made it big in, and then he reopened them.

Let it burn, he thought.

Let it burn.


End file.
